It was just past dawn and I was near\nthe end of a six-mile walk down the beach. My mind drifted to the\ngull with the broken wing I’d passed. He struggled to evade me and I\ngave him wide berth. Death is always omnipresent near the ocean, but\nso is life, all life for that matter. I thanked the gull for what\ngulls do for me on beaches. They are my friends. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I approached the sandy cliffs and\nlooked for new carvings of sweet horny math or statements of\nexistential being. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But something else captured my\nattention, something I had never seen in my 22 years and thousands of\nmiles of rambling down Oregon’s socialist beaches: almost 40 feet up\nthe cliff, someone was sleeping under a flower-print blanket in one\nof the caves hollowed out by the daredevil kids or meth miscreants. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I did a double take. It was impossible\nthat someone could find their way up the cliff, even more impossible\nthat he or she carried a blanket there, and then even double more\nimpossible that he or she was asleep inside a cave overlooking the\nocean on a weekday morning in October 2019. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Who was this person? What was his or\nher story? What is happening in my state and country where people are\nspending the night in caves? This is the story I want to write, but I\ncouldn’t very well yell out \u201cHELLO!\u201d from down below and awaken\nthe cavedweller. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Or could I? \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn’t. It was early and I imagined\nan exhausted person after a night of extreme distress. Let the ocean\nwake her up. She somehow made it down here and found the cave. There\nwas something to that, and I wanted to know that story, too. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
An idea for a book or some kid of\npublication is beginning to form in my mind, about these people of\nthe New American Diaspora. In fact, that might be the title. \n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It was just past dawn and I was near the end of a six-mile walk down the beach. My mind drifted to the gull with the broken wing I’d passed. He struggled to evade me and I gave him wide berth. Death is always omnipresent near the ocean, but so is life, all life for […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5516,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5515","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-meditations","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5515","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5515"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5515\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5518,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5515\/revisions\/5518"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5516"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5515"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5515"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5515"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}